


Same Old Saddle, Same Old Rider

by stefwith1f



Category: The Thrilling Adventure Hour
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 23:49:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1244902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stefwith1f/pseuds/stefwith1f
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Honest, sometimes I ride off alone for a month just hopin' I'll come back and find new folks have shown up. New folks ain't bent on taking over, of course, or hollowin' out Mars for to turn it into some kinda' death cage, or just ... plain bent on murderin'. Course that don't happen, most of the time, nice new folks showing up. Most of the time it's one of those murder ones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Same Old Saddle, Same Old Rider

**Author's Note:**

> for slodwick's 12th Annual [A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words](http://picfor1000.livejournal.com/) challenge.
> 
> [This](http://www.flickr.com/photos/hdworld/10182587134/lightbox/) was my prompt.

It gets to me, sometimes, the _same_ of it all.

This place is my home, always been. I know each spot of the wide open spaces folks just see as empty, the dust devils ripping along the horizon, the red ridges and argon clouds up above the layers of breathable atmosphere, wild horses and wayward herds of hypercattle ... for all that I ain't got a people, I got _this place._

But still. 

Used to be: I got bored riding the range, I'd just head into town, find a way to blow off steam. Start a fight, join up with a fight someone else done started, finish a fight what got out of hand ... I had options, and I like options. Options is good. 

And on the rare occasion there weren't no trouble to be started or drawn out, there was always ways to tangle with the locals. Lotsa' ways, most of 'em legal, all of 'em fun.

The problem of late is ... the locals are the locals. You nod at the same folks, you tussle with the same folks, you have relationships, and end relationships, and find someone new who ain't _even_ new on account of they were there the whole time you was in the other relationship. And then that ends and ... you got options but they ain't great. 

So you do it again. Once more hopin' it'll turn out different, once more brushing yourself off when it don't.

Honest, sometimes I ride off alone for a month just hopin' I'll come back and find new folks have shown up. New folks ain't bent on taking over, of course, or hollowin' out Mars for to turn it into some kinda' death cage, or just ... plain bent on murderin'. Course that don't happen, most of the time, nice new folks showing up. Most of the time it's one of those murder ones. 

Sometimes there's promising folks, but then they set their eyes on a local, and then at me, and decide this planet ain't big enough for _ladies_ to exist in the plural. Which makes a world of no sense. As if I got the energy to care who's passing time with who, if neither of the whos is me. As if, if they decided the planet truly wasn't big enough for both of us, they'd be anything in the neighborhood of a match for me. As if it wouldn't just be nice to sit with someone, or ride out and show someone the exhausting frontier and find the new in it. Talk like friends might. Why no one shows up thinking that ... I ain't figured out. 

I'm aware I don't seem like the befriending type. Please consider it a sign of my bein' serious that I'm willing to try.

Just the same bunch of faces, same stars in the sky, same smell of the dirt and taste of the wind. And this place is my home, I can tell you what time of day it is by the sun in the sky and how it feels on my face, and my _god_ , that that's true is making me crazy.

And no, I don't wanna' _go_ nowhere. I don't wanna' feel a different sun on my face, or smell weird dirt. I want the new to come here. Don't know why it can't happen where I'm at. Doesn't seem out of the question, wanting to be surprised. 

Years back, way back, one of them science or technology aliens, or ... maybe both of 'em joined up because they realized they was the same type of aliens, basically, but they wired up some weatherin' machine to the settings on the planetary terraform management. Snowstorm blew right up, dropped a foot of frozen all over a whole big chunk of the planet in the middle of the day. We was all so shocked, we didn't even go after them aliens right away. Just sort of ... stared. Well, everyone but the Marshal was shocked. He ran right off after 'em, hollerin' 'bout - ain't none of us ever seen snow before? And look - we got snow. But our snow - our usual snow - wasn't like that. We get frozen water vapor, like a handful of glitter thrown into the air and stuck. It's a crunch under your boots, and an extra blanket for your horse. 

This was different. Turned the whole planet quiet, save Nevada's fool shouting. A thick white blanket tucked around Mars's red shoulders. Quiet and bright, long after the sun went down. 

Some staring was _entirely_ called for. 

The hypercattle did not take to it. Not well at all. But you shoulda' seen them horses. Way I figure it, ain't a one of them's closer than two, three generations from original stock brought up from Earth. Ain't a one of them seen snow like that before. Every last one of 'em ran charging through it, natural as breathing. Looked like they was having fun, if that's a thing horses can do.

Then it was gone, as soon as it fell. A day or so later, after the Marshal negotiated a cease-weather with the aliens and then shot their device to bits anyway? The snow just started turning to puddles. Felton coaxed the cattle down off the barn roof. Crops weren't great that year, on account of all the water, but we made it through. 

Least those horses got to run.

Where'd them aliens go, anyway? Seems like they was a reliable threat for years, back then. Now nothing. Can't imagine they _tired_ of messing with the local law. Speaking from experience, it takes a long time gettin' bored doing that. 

Anyway. Something like that, something nice. I reckon I'd give a toe for some excitement; the kind where no one gets their life messed with, or their heart broke, or the both of those together. That kind we get periodical enough. Oh, and no murderin'. For once. 

Something nice and new. 

That'd be something I ain't really seen. That'd be something, all right.


End file.
